


His Heart In My Hand, Heavy As Lead

by jumex_depeach



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: M/M, Subtle World Building, post honest hearts, slowish burn, some dialogue in spanish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumex_depeach/pseuds/jumex_depeach
Summary: "Arcade had become familiar with Jeremias’ speech pattern in the short time they’d known each other. He’d talk just to talk, fill up space. Arcade assumed it was from being a courier. Lonely work, if you spent all your time walking from one place to the other. Just you and your thoughts, maybe even hearing your own voice would just be a way to not feel so lonesome. Arcade then made a small realization ; Jeremias had never really talked about his life before, everything. Everything being : the aggregate political and social capital mess he somehow landed in when he was shot in the head. The oddest of domino effects. But it felt so rude to pry, if he didn’t bring it up, maybe it’s because there was no reason to. Though that didn’t stop the curiosity."A doctor does not know if he wants to fancy the courier that holds the future of the Mojave's society in his hands. It's inevitable though.
Relationships: Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	His Heart In My Hand, Heavy As Lead

**Author's Note:**

> something I started writing at the beginning of quarantine. figured i'd finally post it. dont know how long it'll be, i dont ever plan these things since it's a hobby. don't mind the fact that i write so properly in spanish and probably incorrectly/badly, despite being mexican, im not fluent LMFAO. 
> 
> enjoyyy, comments n kudos' appreciated yeehaw

Not unusual for _him_ to be gone for up to two weeks, well at least if there was someone else tagging along. Trading them out like money for chips at one of the casinos. Always on the move, blood of a courier. Arcade reasoned that as a way to deal with the tepid frustration towards that never resting vigor of the man he found himself in company with during the last two months. But instead they (the most odd bunch he ever encountered) were all herded into the same suite, in the towering haunt of The Strip ; abandoned the way a gambler loses their savings in one night. Not that The Lucky 38 was uncomfortable by any means, but the lack of life in it was always unsettling.   
What Arcade disliked the most was actually how he had begun to hate the feeling of being still, of doing nothing. Not that he didn’t work when he was back at Mormon Fort, he was productive, making a difference ! Really ! It wasn’t something to just tell himself in a cracked piece of glass every morning when he’d have to shave. He used to find peace in just sitting at his desk, poking at meaningless things, and writing down hypotheses only to crumple them within the next few minutes. Why would he ever miss the blisters on his feet after a long day of walking from point A to B to C to Z. Or getting shot at while trying to make something worthy of a meal at night. Awful adrenaline strikes leading to tiring anxiety. But it was lonely, and he was not a great conversationalist with the others, save for the dog. He’d often pretend to be reading The New Vegas Gazette, trying to appear as absorbed as he could to avoid talking in the mornings. Though it never stopped Veronica from asking if he could read her horoscope to her, and then she’d ask everyone else what their zodiacs were. But none of them knew. 

It was cloudy for once in the Mojave, the day The Courier came back. Though none of them knew initially the morning they woke up and had their routine breakfast at the cocktail lounge ; like some sort of cobbled up fantasy family for that cheeky mailman. And he wasn’t even there to gab at them. Sometimes the topic at breakfast was their titular Courier companion of local wasteland fame, though they simply called him Jeremias.   
Cass would taunt poor Rex for missing him, to the point where the whining yips would fill the lounge for a few minutes. And Raul would give the poor pooch a slice of brahmin jerky to calm down. Veronica would bring up the time she saw Jeremias chew so much coyote tobacco in one handful, that he vomited from the overwhelming buzz ten minutes later. Which wasn’t a great conversation to have while eating, but they’d chuckle all the same. Cass would buck in claiming she had a better story. How he managed to get stung in the ass while running away from a cazador, and that the lower half of his body went numb for the rest of the day. Snorting while she recounted how they had to use Rex like a sled dog to drag him to the nearest settlement. 

And Arcade would listen to these stories, enjoying the entertainment ; but there would be a nagging feeling, that would slowly grow in his stomach as he realized the stories were travelling around the table and it would end up on him. He couldn’t think of what to say, not a humorous story in the crevices of his mind that he could recall. The anxiety that was already being fueled by imminent embarrassment, had him chewing on his slice of dry toast till his mouth felt the equivalent of Ivanpah Dry Lake. Then suddenly only the cool raspy tone of Raul’s voice would shake him from his thoughts.

“And you güero, you got any stories about the boss ?”

Arcade briefly widened his eyes in panic for a second, tapping one hand at the edge of the table to buy time and act like he was thinking. Foolproof, and not obvious at all. “Uh—hm it’s been a bit since I was out with him, uh.. Usually I’m so concerned with patching him up I don’t think I focus on humorous things when they happen ? Sorry to be so lackluster in the conversation.”

The rest of them were quiet for a second, shrugging his answer off. No harm, no foul. His anxiety wasn’t about to wash away so fast, it would probably increase as he sipped on his coffee, which was a bit too bitter.   
A sudden ding of the elevator alerted all of them, each tensing up suddenly ; Of course there was only one answer to who else would be entering the coffin of a casino they stayed—lived in, but hesitation and alertness was a way of life to them. Nonetheless there stood Jeremias, a sight for sore eyes for them all. Arcade couldn’t tell if it was the previous anxiety and coffee that suddenly made his heart rate rise, or something else. 

It was quiet between them and The Courier as they watched him step out of the elevator, and let out a small sigh ; before lighting the room up with a tiredly warm smile, saying “funny seeing y’all here.”   
Before anyone could respond, Rex bounded over, and pawed at the weathered mailman’s chest, yipping and whining away. Receiving many chest and cheek scratches from Jeremias as an apology for being gone. 

Raul was the first to speak, and greet their beloved mailman back. “Venir y come, tu parece flaco.”

Jeremias walked over, pulling himself up a chair between Raul and Boone, chiding back. “Ay no digas eso, solías señalar mis lonjas, viejito.”

Raul patted Jeremias on the back, and they both smiled at each other, before Raul got up to go serve Jeremias some food from the small d.i.y. kitchen they made at the bar. It was interesting to observe on Arcade’s part. He wasn’t fluent in spanish, didn’t speak it at all, but could pick up some words with his knowledge of latin. The language did descend from it after all. But even beyond that, he felt almost jealous of the relationship between the two. Just the ease Raul had with Jeremias. Familial, almost. Nationality didn’t matter so much like it did pre war, but maybe the connection of being Mexican despite generational difference, and a common language aside from english, created a bond different to the rest in the group.   
Arcade realized he was staring as Jeremias looked up from the table and made eye contact with him immediately. This morning was becoming mortifying in more ways than one. Tongue tied for a moment, before panic rushed it into untying itself, asking “so where’ve you been ?”

Everyone was curious it was true, and Arcade felt it was best to get it out of the way. So they could all continue with their day and meal. They all watched Jeremias closely. Noting how he was a bit sunburned on his nose and cheeks, forehead too. A hinge of burnt umber-red to his skin. The bags under his eyes seemed more prominent as well. He may have looked a bit worse for wear than usual, but even despite his tired disposition so early in the morning, there was a liveliness to him. Subtle, but in his eyes, it was there. Curious.  
“Oh. I thought I mentioned it before heading out. Went to go see what that Happy Trails Caravan thing was about. Utah—Zion, there, you know. Been a while since I’d gone through, figured it’d be an okay change of pace.” 

“Huh. Well we just were starting to believe you just fucked off and died somewhere like an old wounded dog.” Cass snidely jokes, but there was a slight hint of truth to it. Beforehand in other conversations they wondered, and that was their worst case scenario usually. But they’d all shake their heads to it. 

Jeremias kissed his teeth and smiled just a bit cheekily, “maybe next time, who knows.”

Conversation had keeled over and died, the moment Jeremias came in. It might’ve been because it was about him, or it was just odd to be in his presence again. Slightly enigmatic, he always has been. The only sound in the lounge was Raul frying something together. Which was calming given the uneasiness.

“So...What’ve y’all been up to while I was M.I.A ?” 

They all collectively shrugged. Which was the silent, collective answer of “not a whole lot.”

Jeremias nodded his head, and looked out to the overcast sky hanging over the mojave. “Lounge always gives a great view of the sky. Wonder if it’ll rain, wouldn’t that be a sight.”

The comment wasn’t directed at anyone. Arcade had become familiar with Jeremias’ speech pattern in the short time they’d known each other. He’d talk just to talk, fill up space. Arcade assumed it was from being a courier. Lonely work, if you spent all your time walking from one place to the other. Just you and your thoughts, maybe even hearing your own voice would just be a way to not feel so lonesome. Arcade then made a small realization ; Jeremias had never really talked about his life before, everything. Everything being : the aggregate political and social capital mess he somehow landed in when he was shot in the head. The oddest of domino effects. But it felt so rude to pry, if he didn’t bring it up, maybe it’s because there was no reason to. Though that didn’t stop the curiosity. 

Raul came back, sliding a plate in front of Jeremias. Why did that plate of food look more delicious than anything else they made for themselves ? Raul never ate much in the mornings ; but in the short time it took to cook something, it made them all slightly jealous at the special treatment Jeremias got just for coming home. Arcade recalled the pair cooking together in the kitchen in the presidential suite a few times a week before Jeremias left. Maybe aside from spoken languages, cooking was also one for them.   
It became a regular occurence where everyone else would get excited when the two could be heard bickering and wheezing in the kitchen, it meant a good meal. Made from scratch and something else like _“love”_. 

Jeremias twirled a fork between his fingers, “how’d you know I was craving chilaquiles ?”

Raul waved his hand, before going to sip on his coffee. “No sabía. Tortillas iban a ir rancio.”

That made Jeremias roll his eyes, but he sliced into an egg yolk regardless. Arcade watched it flow onto the fried pieces of tortilla, making the salsa verde muckier in color. Chewing through a bite, Jeremias asked, “Where’d you guys even get eggs out here ?”

“Night market !” Veronica chimed in. “They started one in Freeside during your little trip. Since you at least settled things down between The NCR and The Kings.”

For once, Arcade had something to actually add to the conversation that was relevant. A bit of pride came with that. “Yeah—yeah, Followers had a hand in organizing it. Since Julie knows Elizabeth Kieran, and we’re familiar with The Kings of course. So it’s a nice way to bring the community together. Turns out they imported some chickens over from NCR recently, they have a coop at the sharecropper farms. The more you know.” 

Jeremias made a small noise indicating intrigue, “sounds fun, should make a visit sometime when I’m not busy.”

“Good because the economy is in shambles and you have all the caps for some reason.” Cass remarked casually. Which made everyone laugh.

It was nice for their scrappy little group to be complete again. It did feel off not having their wine guzzling Courier around. Missing puzzle piece returned to its spot. He felt oddly warmer than usual, Arcade noted, not that he was an asshole particularly ; he tended to be on the pessimistic side of life, but that’s also incredibly common nowadays. Whatever happened on his trip, affected him. Maybe Arcade was the only one that noticed it. Slowly as the minutes passed with conversation, he’d catch Jeremias looking out the windows as conversation grew and grew between the others ; silent, a soft somber look in his eyes complimented with a gentle smile that didn’t seem so happy. But existing peacefully at the very least. 

They made eye contact briefly again, and Jeremias held it. “Do you think it’s gonna rain, Arcade ?”

Arcade shrugged. “Maybe. With you back in town, it wouldn’t surprise me.”


End file.
